The Kindness of Strangers
by Aurora Borealia
Summary: What if, on that fateful April night in 1919, it had been Sir Richard who died from the Spanish Flu and not Lavinia? How would the lives of the Crawleys be different? And what does kind, sweet Lavinia have to teach Mary about herself and her own kind actions in the past? One-shot. Mary/Matthew, with plenty of love towards Lavinia. [Warning: Character death, obviously]


_**A/N - Hello, folks! This is my first fanfic in awhile AND my first Downton fic, come to me after rewatching the series for about the third time (it's just so darn good, especially those first few seasons!). Hope you enjoy this one-shot!**_

 _ **Warnings: Character death, obviously**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I did use some dialogue from various episodes in season two. I don't own that dialogue, nor do I own any of these characters, locations, etc. They belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV. Wish I could own them though! ;)**_

 **The Kindness of Strangers - a Downton Abbey fic**

A strange disease with savage changes. That is how Doctor Clarkson described the disease that now had its claws in half the household staff, including Mary's beloved Carson, and dear Mama. And it, as most diseases, had a way of exposing what truly mattered. The family was of course still buzzing tersely with the news of Sybil's disagreeable betrothal before dinner that evening, when a hasty telegram came from the station, explaining that they would have a last minute addition - Sir Richard. The telegram hardly heralded him, however, for he was at their doorstep within fifteen minutes of its arrival. Mary met him at the door, balling and unballing her fists.

"Richard. How wonderful to see you." she intoned flatly, "But I wish you had given us a bit more advanced notice. We're in the throes of a family crisis."

The sounds of Papa and Sybil's ongoing shouting match upstairs just proved as much. Sir Richard, ever a muckraker, merely raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his small smile betraying just what a delicious treat this was.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I do hope I won't be an intrusion."

"No, not at all." Mary lied, forcing a smile to mirror that of her fiancé, "Just do forgive us if we aren't the happiest of parties. Speaking of which, you don't look at all well, Richard. Are you quite alright?"

He shrugged as if he hadn't noticed, "Just tired from the travel, I suppose. I'm sure a rest before dinner will put it all right." he lowered his voice, "And I wouldn't miss dinner for the world."

Dinner that night was a tense affair for Mary. She picked at the food quietly, drinking in the sight of her family with a sense of steadily growing dread. Matthew was paired with Lavinia; she was stuck with a glowering Sir Richard who she knew now had only come down because he didn't want her to be around Matthew if he wasn't there to monitor them; Papa looked as though he were chewing around thorns in the face of his own powerlessness against the stronger wills of Sybil as she stared back at him certainly. Things were never going to be the same, Mary knew, and she tried not to meet the concerned eyes of Granny or Isobel, who silently confirmed her deepest fears that she was making a terrible mistake.

The word that Carson had been taken ill shook Mary out of her reverie, and of course caused the entire table to sit up a bit straighter. After all, if Carson - cornerstone of the house - was laid low, surely any of them could be too. And such a fear was proven true, as Cora excused herself for the same reasons. Spanish Flu, Papa called it, but no one seemed too afraid yet. Not even when Sir Richard, who was seemingly made of iron, fell prey to it as well, excusing himself and rushing out, attempting to maintain his hard-won dignity even as he shook and sweated and desperately loosened his tie.

With half their number laid up, dinner abruptly broke apart. Sybil and Isobel, ever the nurses, scurried off to help. Mary rose in shock, unsure who she should go to first. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to go to Mama or Carson, but she knew for the sake of keeping up appearances she should go check in with Sir Richard. But she couldn't make her lips form the words to say she was off to do so, especially when she caught sight of the concerned look on Matthew's face.

"Don't worry." a voice said, and it took Mary a second to realize it was Lavinia, "Everything will be alright. We'll go up together and see to everyone. I haven't done much nursing in my life, but I'm sure I can be of some help."

Mary smiled and nodded, thanking Lavinia for being her ally to face the horrid, unthinkable task of going upstairs. Matthew, who just seconds before had seemed to be consumed with uncertainty and despair, smiled now too.

"Well God knows you were the most wonderful nurse anyone could ask for when you looked after me." he said, kissing her cheek, "I'll come as well, if you don't mind."

The entire party drifted upstairs as Doctor Clarkson arrived. It seemed that neither Mama nor Sir Richard were in terrible shape - Sir Richard seemed, in fact, to have missed the worst of it entirely in his characteristic fashion. He was already sitting up in bed when Mary at last drifted to his room with Robert as her chaperon. She was glad for the excuse not to stay long and to be delivered from his complaints that the entire affair was rather inconvenient and undignified. But Mary knew better what that meant - that if Richard was laid up here, he couldn't keep an eye on her downstairs, and that he ran the risk of her and Matthew coming together as if fate had preordained that from the start of the universe.

But it turned out he was right and fate did work for Mary and Matthew Crawley in strange ways. Everyone had gone, it seemed - either home or to bed or to nurse the sick. She was virtually alone with Matthew, dancing to the tinny music of a gramophone, each of them drowning under the weight of their own missteps and bad choices. The sense of longing in every step was enough to choke her, the waves of regret in every syllable of Matthew's speech enough to make the act of breathing unbearable. And then they were one, lips against lips, nothing else in the universe mattering even for a second.

It was Lavinia's gentle "hello?" that broke them apart.

"Darling, I thought you had gone home with Mother." Matthew chirped pleasantly, trying not to seem too caught off-guard.

"I wanted to help Lady Sybil finish the rounds in the servants' hall, but I began to feel a bit underfoot." she laughed ruefully.

"We can go home together, then, if you're ready." Matthew replied.

"Oh, but I don't mean to rush you-" Lavinia began, but Mary kindly waved her off.

"Of course not," Mary replied, "You've been of such great help already. I'll have Mrs. Patmore make you both a few sandwiches before you go, since dinner wasn't much of a thing, and then I'll call your car for you. I can't thank you both enough for being here."

"You will call if there's any change?" Matthew asked.

"Of course. Good night." Mary responded, and hurried away. Behind her, Matthew and Lavinia began discussing something she couldn't hear, as she ran her hand over her mouth and wondered what was to come.

 **. . .**

The next morning dawned greyer. Mama had taken a turn for the worse and was now in a dreadful state, O'Brien and Sybil attempting to shepherd her through. Between the horror of her sick mother and a wedding looming, things began to feel final and constricting for Mary. She just couldn't bear to see Mama in the state she was in, nor could she spend longer than five minutes with Sir Richard without feeling as though she would crawl out of her own skin. She spent long stretches of time merely waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the wedding decorations that were supposed to be for the wedding of the man she loved.

Because she _did_ love Matthew. There was no denying it. And she loved him enough to let him go, especially to someone as dear as Lavinia, whom she cared for deeply as well. But the choice nevertheless felt like a dagger was being plunged into her heart.

She spent the afternoon ghosting silently through the house, unable to face the thought of going upstairs to see Sir Richard. She felt a great sense of relief when Doctor Clarkson, who had come to check on everyone and attend to Cora, reported that Richard spent most of the day asleep.

And so Mary hadn't been upstairs all day when Edith came running down, telling her she must come quick. Doctor Clarkson wasn't far behind her as they went to her parents' room, where Mama appeared to be on death's door. She had never felt her heart constrict with such fear in her whole life - perhaps everyone else could deny it and overlook it, but Mary, ever the realist, knew that it was very possible their mother could die today. Doctor Clarkson's dire statement confirmed it - if Cora lived through the night, then she would live. But there was an "if" there. It was possible she very well might _not_ make it through the night.

And what a night it was, with horrible fits of bleeding and vomiting and gasping for air. But there was nothing more to be done then let the illness play itself out under Miss O'Brien and Lady Sybil's watchful guidance. Mary had never been more grateful to leave a room than when Doctor Clarkson asked to see the other patients. Shortly after, the rest of the family straggled in for a quick buffet style dinner, just enough to eat and return to the bedsides of their sick loved ones. Mary found herself hardly able to eat morsel as she sat across from Matthew and Lavinia. Her thoughts turned again and again to Mama and the gasping sound she had made, unable to see clearly or recognize any of the familiar loving faces in the room...

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned disaster, she heard Sybil shouting her name, her footfalls thundering quickly into the room. At once, Mary was on her feet.

"Is it Mama?" she croaked, fearing the worst.

"That's what's so...it's Sir Richard." Sybil replied.

Immediately, confused eyes turned to Mary, who had no answers. She merely set off quickly at Sybil's heel, shocked thoughts buzzing through her brain. He had looked so fit, so healthy, just last night, and she said so to Doctor Clarkson when she came in. He could only reply that Spanish Flu was a strange disease with savage changes. And a savage change surely had occurred in Sir Richard in a mere twenty-four hours. His pallor had become like death - white and yet flushed red at the same time - and he was drenched in sweat, which caused his hair to stick to his face and his forehead as he tried to writhe into a more comfortable position, a position that would better help him breathe, something which at the moment seemed so very difficult and strained.

"Oh. Oh God. Richard...I don't...I..." Mary stammered, sinking into the chair by his bedside. She was acutely aware that they had drawn quite a party - Matthew, Lavinia, Edith, Papa, and Sybil were all crowded in, eyes wide with horror. But Richard saw none of them. His eyes fell squarely on Mary and he smiled a bitter smile.

"Mary." he said, matter-of-factly, "Lady Mary Crawley at my bedside when I die. Surely, I am blessed over all men."

"Richard, don't." she begged, "Don't say that. Nothing is sure."

"Oh, Mary, come now. We're realists, you and I." he admonished through his wheezing, "We know better than even Doctor Clarkson there that I am a dead man who just hasn't had the good sense to stop breathing yet."

"Richard, please stop..." Mary began, but he was right, there was no point in pretending otherwise. He was dying. He would be dead very soon. The thought sent a bolt of fear through Mary, turning her insides to ice.

"I loved you, you know..." Richard whispered, for her ears only, "More than you knew, and much, much more than you loved me. But it's alright, I don't blame you. And now you can be happy with me out of the way."

"Please. Let me get you a vicar. You at least deserve to get the anointing of the sick." Mary said, her fiancé's past-tense words of love and loss still ringing in her ears, knowing they were true.

"Don't worry, Mary. Wherever I end up, I'll be fine," Richard smiled, "I usually am."

And all at once, like a very quick wind had blown through the room, he was gone. Mary reeled back in confusion as heads bowed and the men looked away and Doctor Clarkson came to check for a pulse, just as a matter of routine. The only sensation Mary felt was a reassuring hand grabbing hold of her hand and giving it a squeeze. It was Lavinia, who looked at Mary and nodded a comforting nod.

 **. . .**

There were no other casualties in Downton from the terrible Spanish Flu. Mama had made a full recovery, as had Carson and every afflicted maid. Only Sir Richard Carlisle, the self-made newspaper mogul, would be laid to rest with a funeral on Monday. Lavinia and Matthew cancelled their wedding in light of the tragedy, stating they would reschedule to another date. Wedding decorations came down and a flurry of activity came back to the house, slowly but surely, but Mary walked around in a daze. She wouldn't pretend that Sir Richard had been the love of her life, or that she hadn't longed for Matthew every second they were together. But she certainly hadn't wanted any harm to come to the man - certainly not this.

He was buried in his family plot in Edinburgh, next to his parents. Most of the Crawleys tried to attend the funeral, with the exception of Cora, still too much in recovery to make such a voyage. They arrived back at Downton in a light misting rain, a dreary party for the dreary weather, perfect for mourning. As they entered the house for a simple luncheon, Mary was intercepted by Carson.

"Carson." Mary said, a smile coming to her face, "It's good to see you well again."

"It's good to be well, My Lady." he nodded respectfully, "And I am sorry to hear about Sir Carlisle. I know you did not love him, not truly. But I know you cared for him as well, and I am sorry."

Mary's eyes widened slightly in shock to see herself be so effortlessly characterized, her innermost thoughts flung open, brought into the daylight. But then again, this was Carson - the man who knew her better than anyone in this house, herself included. Of course he would know the truth. She felt herself sighing in relief, as if it was good to hear someone put it into words at long last.

"Thank you, Carson." she sniffed, shaking off the gloom that threatened to overtake her, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I have a letter that came for you, My Lady." he said, handing it to her and waiting as she scanned it.

"It's Sir Richard's lawyer. About his will." Mary sighed, "I suppose I'll go up to see him tomorrow."

Carson nodded before heading on his way, leaving Mary to stand alone in the foyer, pondering it all. True to her word, she went up to London to hear the terms of the will the next day. The house welcomed her when she returned, each member curious to hear what Sir Richard had left his fiancé. But with the knowledge rattling around her mind, Mary bypassed them all and asked to see Lavinia, who had come up with Matthew for dinner and was changing in one of the guest rooms.

Mary rapped gently on the door and was let in by Anna, who was helping Lavinia into her evening clothes.

"Hello, Anna." Mary said warmly, "Would you mind terribly if I spoke to Lavinia in private for a moment?"

"Certainly, My Lady." Anna nodded, "I was just finishing."

She gathered the discarded day clothes and hurried off, leaving the two women behind.

"Mary." Lavinia said, her voice betraying a small note of surprise, "How was London?"

"As it always is." Mary replied lightly, with a slight smile and a tiny shrug that revealed nothing, "I prefer the days when I am there for happier tasks."

"Certainly, of course." Lavinia said, a bit embarrassed, "I hope it went well. Or at least..."

"At least as well as such an awful business can go." Mary nodded, finishing Lavinia's thought for her, "I just feel so dreadfully, dreadfully sorry about the whole thing. Sir Richard was a difficult man and I didn't love him - I suppose any fool can see that - but he loved me. And he didn't deserve the end he got."

"Sir Richard's love for you was his best quality, believe me." Lavinia stated, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "But no. He didn't deserve that end."

She gestured for Mary to sit down too and Mary joined her with a grateful murmur.

"So, how can I help?" Lavinia asked as they sat.

"Yes, of course," Mary responded, shaking her head as if she had forgotten the reason she came, "I wanted to talk to you about something very important regarding Sir Richard's will."

"Me? Whatever for?" Lavinia asked, voice thick with surprise.

"Well, you see...Sir Richard has left me his fortune...and he's also left me his newspaper enterprise."

"Oh. Well, congratulations indeed, Mary. But what has that got to do with me?"

"It only has to do with you if you want it to, but...I thought I might give the newspaper to you."

Lavinia spluttered, "To me? But why? He was your fiancé; it should be yours."

"I know." Mary responded, "But it has gone to me and I've had all day to consider that fact. And I've realized that if anyone is suited to have it - if anyone deserves to have it - that it's you, Lavinia. I thought it would be fitting that, after all Sir Richard put you and your family through in the papers during the Marconi scandal, you should have the paper to do with what you like...you can sell it, or you can keep it and run it how you see fit ."

"But I...I don't know what to say."

"I hope you'll say yes," Mary smiled, "But if you don't want it, please don't feel obligated. I wouldn't be able to bear it if I forced it on you."

After a beat of thought, the look of shock on Lavinia's face faded and her eyes, which were staring miles off, seemed to swim with possibility. She seemed to have absorbed the shock, accepted the idea, and had even come to love it. She turned back to Mary and a smile quickly replace the look of disbelief.

"Well, alright, yes! Yes, if you're certain you're at peace with it."

"I am." Mary said, spreading her hands as if to show she was releasing it, "I'm so very glad to hear it."

"There's just one thing."

"Anything." Mary responded.

"I need to be sure you're not doing this because you feel guilty about Sir Richard's death. Because you should know that you did nothing wrong. You shouldn't feel sorry at all."

"Shouldn't I?" she wondered, but whether to Lavinia or herself she wasn't sure, "I'm not so certain...Sometimes I feel as though...as if I am cursed to be some harbinger of doom. As if I am doomed to be this awful demon, just tearing things apart in my wake."

Lavinia sat up straight, rigid in surprise at Mary harsh words of self-loathing.

"It distresses me to hear you talk this way." she chided gently, "And I don't think it's true for a start."

Mary smiled a weak smile, "It's very kind of you to say so, Lavinia, but with all due respect, you don't know me so well as the others do. You'd change your tune if you knew me better."

"But Mary, I've been at this house enough times to know things, to hear things." Lavinia insisted, "I find stories everywhere of the kind things you've done for people. There's a kitchen maid downstairs - Daisy, her name is - who told me how you sent one of the footmen home to visit his mother because you knew she was dying. Matthew told me of how you took care of him when he first came to the hospital after he was wounded. Your maid, Anna, just told me how much you've always cared for her and been her closest friend, encouraging her and her new husband, even when things have seemed bleak. Mary, everywhere I go in this house, I hear stories about all the kind things you've done for people. And you still seem to be dead-set on being defined by the nasty things alone. Even I've seen it first hand as I watched you wheel Matthew around the estate with such great kindness and care. You have to come to terms with it, Mary - you actually are a good person. A wonderful person."

Mary blinked at the other woman in shock. She had been called many things in her life, but never a wonderful person.

"So promise me you're not giving me Sir Richard's company out of guilt over his death."

"I promise."

"Good. Good, I'm glad. Now can I have you promise me you aren't doing it because you feel guilty about being in love with Matthew?"

If Lavinia's last statement had been a shock, this next comment was a bombshell. Mary gaped back at her in utter disbelief.

"I'm not angry, please don't take it that way." Lavinia said, filling in the silence, "I'm the furthest thing from it. So let me tell you another story of kindness I encountered about you - because I'm the one who experienced it. I saw a woman who - through the circumstances of life, through mistakes and misunderstandings and the whole messy business of living - had been torn from the man she loved. And who, despite this, was never anything but perfectly lovely to that man's new fiancée. Mary, you remember that day I told you Matthew had to go back to the front early? When you said you wanted to talk to him, but ended up sitting with me? I always wondered if you were going to tell him you were still in love with him that day, but I could never know for certain. And then I saw you and Matthew dancing the other night. I saw you kiss..."

"About that. Lavinia, it's not-"

"No, Mary. You don't have to justify yourself to me. Not in the least. When I saw the two of you kiss, I thought to myself - _How fine. How right they look together_. And I realized I had been right that day during the war. You really had wanted to tell him you still loved him, but you didn't. Because you wanted him to be happy. And you wanted me to be happy too - even though it meant you might be miserable. Even if it meant he might die and you'd never be able to tell him the way you truly felt. That's my story of the kindness you showed to me - back when you hardly knew me, back when we were perfect strangers."

"You have no idea how very kind that is, Lavinia, truly..." Mary explained, forcing herself not to cry, "But that doesn't excuse how Matthew and I behaved that night in the foyer while you were upstairs."

But Lavinia merely laughed a tiny, uncertain laugh in response, "Actually, Mary...seeing the two of you together that night confirmed something for me too. I'm glad you came to talk to me this evening, because I actually wanted to talk to you."

She paused, moistened her lips, and continued,

"I love Matthew. I adore him, even. And from the first moment I saw him, I thought, _that's the man I want to marry_ ," she laughed a little, lost in memory, "I got so caught up in the whole thing - we both did. It was like a fairytale. Dancing it the moonlight, talking on the promenades well into the night, long strolls in the evening. I suppose I didn't think it through then. It wasn't until we were engaged that I began to realize...as much as I adore him, I did have...trepidations. Concerns."

"Concerns?" Mary echoed and Lavinia nodded uncertainly.

"You see, I've realized I'm not like most women, Mary. I don't want to be a mother. I don't want to..." she blushed to be talking about such a private subject so candidly, "...perform certain... _wifely duties_...to-to... _please_ a man in that way. I find it terrifying at times, repulsive even. And so, when Matthew was injured - God forgive me for saying this but - when they believed he would never be able to consummate our marriage or father children, I thought that maybe it was the hand of fate giving me the opportunity to be with him and not have to face the unpleasantries I was so worried about it. And when he recovered, I of course was ecstatic. More than I can say. But it meant too that I had to face the same doubts and fears I had had before his injury. And I just can't face them, they're too great for me to get around."

She had begun to cry a bit at this point, but although the tears seemed sad, there was relief in them too, an unburdening.

"Besides, I'm not cut out for this life." She continued, "I'm an ordinary person with an ordinary life, not a duchess or a countess. I couldn't bear a life of social calls and raising heirs and debutant balls. But that's the life you know, Mary. It's the life you can help him adjust to more and more every day. He loves you and you love him, and I am so grateful to the both of you for allowing me to be as happy as I have been for this long. But you two belong together. You deserve to be happy too. So with your blessing, I'm going to talk to him after dinner and let him know the long and the short of it. And then you two can finally be together. Get married. Have children. But I'm not angry and I'm not bitter, and I'll continue to care about your family until my dying day. So please, invite me to the wedding. I'll be more than happy to attend."

By now, both women were crying in the guest room, Mary suppressing a sob with one gloved hand. She wiped her tears away with the other and shook her head.

"It hardly seems fair," she said, laughing a tiny regretfully laugh, "I offered you a newspaper and in return you offered me the man you love."

Lavinia laughed a small laugh through her tears in response, "And I am so grateful for the newspaper, believe me I am. I promise, this isn't a tit-for-tat offer. I would believe this was the right thing to do - even if we were the last three people left on earth, even if no other place or possession survived. This is how it should be - and I'm not sorry about any of it, not for one second."

"And I don't suppose there's anything I can do to talk you out of it?" Mary asked.

"No. You've spent all your time being kind to me, now I'm being kind to you." Lavinia said, reaching forward to take Mary's hand.

They sat like that for a moment, each looking towards a new future they hadn't thought possible just a few days ago. There was a sadness to this moment, a bittersweetness, and yet on the horizon it seemed like so much joy was about the break. After a second, Mary looked up at the clock.

"It's almost eight. We should be going down for dinner or they'll send a search party." she said.

"You're right," Lavinia responded, "What comes next won't be easy."

"No, he'll fight it for certain." Mary said, shaking her head, "He's stubborn that way."

"I know." Lavinia laughed fondly, "So you'll have to keep his spirits up, promise me. And then, when you two are engaged, I'll report it in my brand new newspaper."

In spite of it all, the two women couldn't help but laugh as they left the room and headed for the stairs.

 **. . .**

The ladies were right - Matthew did resist at first. But eventually he too faced the truth that this was better, that this was right. They waited an acceptable window of transition - Mary to mourn Richard; Matthew to make a clean break with Lavinia and her family - then, that Christmas, Mary and Matthew Crawley were engaged at long last. The next morning, Lavinia's newspapers were the first to run the announcement of their engagement. And true to her word, she was overjoyed the morning of the wedding to show up at Downton and be there to attend to the happy couple with the rest of the Crawley family, seeing them off to their honeymoon.

In fact, Lavinia became quite present at Downton Abbey at the request of both the future Lord and Lady Grantham and the current. On more than one occasion she was there to save the day, to offer a future when none seemed possible. A year later, when Sybil was preparing to give birth, Lavinia arrived a week early to lend a hand. After observing Sybil one afternoon, she stepped forward and took Branson aside.

"Forgive me, I know it might not be my place, but we just had an interview with a local doctor up in London for the newspaper and we discussed tips for pregnant women as part of it. I couldn't help but think of Sybil the whole time. One of the things he mentioned was the dangers of eclampsia...I can't help but feel Sybil has many of those signs. A Cesarean section might not be the answer, but it is certainly worth considering." she suggested firmly but gently.

Despite fiery debates raging between Robert, Doctor Clarkson, and Sir Tapsel for days on whether or not Sybil was in good shape, it was Lavinia, the woman who had first graced the house as a timidly mild and silent girl, whose voice was the most influential. Branson took the news to his wife, who agreed to the operation, despite Robert's concerns. With the operation finished successfully and Sybil delivered of a healthy baby girl, Lavinia became a bit of a hero, although she insisted she had done nothing of the sort. A few days later, with Sybil recovered, her daughter was baptized as Sybil Branson - forevermore to affectionately be called Sybbie - at the request of the little girl's proud father, who insisted that if his life had become this perfect because of one Sybil, imagine what it would become with two. Her middle name was happily given as Lavinia.

When it was Mary's turn to give birth to her child in the summer of 1921, it was Lavinia who rushed an anxious but overjoyed Matthew to his wife's side at Cottage Hospital. She watched, bursting with pride, as Matthew cradled his new son and the happy couple embraced.

"Now, come on and let your wife rest," she laughed, taking Matthew's arm, "I'll drive you home, you're no use to man or beast in this state; you just look out the window, drink it all in, think about how wonderful your life is going to be".

And he did just that as Lavinia took him back to the excited welcoming committee at Downton as they rushed home from their summer holiday in Scotland.

One evening, Mary bounced and fussed over her new son George in the spare moments she had before dinner that evening, during which the family would see Lavinia after several months away. Quite suddenly, she halted, and stared off into space, deeply lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked, lunging forward as if something terrible had happened.

"Oh, it's nothing..." she said, looking over, "I just can't help but think that, without Lavinia, none of us would be where we are right now."

And so their lives went on as such - happy, peaceful, and exciting by turns, but always categorized by love and joy. As 1921 wore on, Mary entered the library one morning with a picture in her hand and a smile on her face. Matthew looked up from where he was reading the paper and cocked his head to one side in query. She showed him the picture and he smiled in response. It was a photo of Lavinia in the offices of her newspaper, her employees flanking her and smiling at her adoringly. The whole host of them looked like they would take a bullet for her and the grin of confident, easy happiness that graced Lavinia's face made it easy to see why.

"Well, Lavinia has found love." Matthew beamed.

"The love of many," Mary confirmed, "And richly deserved."

That Christmas, Lavinia was too busy to come to Downton for the holiday, but sent her love in the form of a card and promised to come after the New Year. Mary read the card aloud as Matthew played with George and Sybil smoothed Sybbie's hair as the girl slept on her lap.

" _As always, you all have my love and my wishes for the happiest of Christmases and the most wonderful of New Years. Love from your Lavinia_ " Mary finished as the family smiled.

"And to think, just a few years ago, she was a stranger to us, to all of us." Matthew said, "Now she's a part of our story, forevermore."

"And I say thank goodness for it, too." Mary responded with a smile, "Come now, let's have a toast in her honor. To Lavinia."

The family echoed her toast of _to Lavinia_ , raising their glasses high.

"And to fallen friends." Matthew added.

"Here, here." came the call as glasses were pressed to lips.

"To fallen friends." Mary nodded.

As the celebrations continued and the conversation flowed once more, Mary rose and walked to the window, looking out on the peaceful lawn covered with snow. Matthew was right - just a few years ago, so many of them were strangers to each other, even those who had lived together for years. Now, their stories were all connected, their lives interwoven into happy successes. Over the years, there would be trials of course. There would be struggles and sorrows. But thanks to the unbreakable bonds the Crawley family, servants, and friends had forged over the years, she knew they would be able to last through any storm.


End file.
